Explain and Justify
by Metroid13
Summary: The simplest things can influence history. Like history assignments. OC-centric, John focused. Updated for a better ending.
1. Explain

**Explain and Justify**

Briefcase and lesson plan in hand and the need to educate and enlighten in mind, William Bennett hurried into his tenth grade American History class. He spared the seated students a quick glance as he dropped the briefcase by his desk and slapped the manilla envelope onto the top. He reached into his tweed jacket pocket for his reading glasses while removing several sheets of paper from the envelope. The first sheet he brought into his right hand while the rest of them were cast back down onto the desk.

He gave another look to his students, allowing an easy smile to come over his face, "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen."

Thirty years ago, everyone would have immediately returned the greeting; some with enthusiasm, and others in their usual, bored way. Those were fearful, respectful days, back then. Harder days, too. People were perhaps a bit more appreciative then than they were now: for today, in the year of 2007, only Cameron Baum churned out a hello in her typical monotone voice. Everyone else was silent, now all boredom instead of mixed enthusiasm. Bennett scarcely noticed anymore except when he made a direct point of thinking about it as he was now. During the nineties he demanded respect. He told them the first day, _I expect respect from you people. I give it to you, and you give it right on back. My respect for you is not necessarily a right, as you'll find for most things in life; it is a privilege. _

Two thousands? He didn't even bother. The growing trend from the prosperity of the Clinton years and the subsequent consumerism (and, by extension, the cynicism) of the Bush era seemed to give the young people of America only one thing to say anymore:_ Mister Bennett,_ _I've got mine already. iPods, internet, and good food whenever I want it. What's the point?_

Not much, William Bennett came to understand. And he was a fairly liberal man nowadays, following the basic philosophy of "live and let live." He did his best to teach, not to impose.

... Still, he pined for those days of respect. Of the days of "we're all in this together." Alas... no more.

"Now, before I call the roll, ladies and gentlemen, I will say that today you are in for a surprise."

"No test?" Andrew Kaplan asked hopefully.

Mr. Bennett spread his hands, "It is a surprise, Andy. It wouldn't be a surprise if I told you, now, would it?"

"Oh," was all Andrew said. Bennett rolled his eyes privately and started on the roll.

"Elizabeth Baines?... Not here? Hm. I know you're here, Cameron, but your brother...?"

"Here," John Baum said, raising his hand.

"Ah, there you are. You should stop moving seats so often, it's getting difficult to track you." He chuckled. John didn't. He moved his seat every single day, and made no attempt to explain it, having been asked more than once by Bennett. It would have been unsettling if Bennett didn't get at least one oddball in his class every year, and he _already_ had Cameron. Bennett had no doubt that if their mother, Sarah, had been in this class more than a decade ago, he probably would have found her odd as well. Some families were just _all_ strange, no two ways about it.

He went through the attendance sheet methodically; four absences. There were always a few nowadays, but Bennett wasn't about to get back into another internal monologue, lamenting the irresponsibility of today's youth. He folded the sheet up and slipped it onto the desk. Then he turned to the class, whipping the pair of bifocals off from his nose and giving them the most intellectual, enlightened stare he could muster.

"The surprise, you'll no doubt be pleased to hear, is the lack of a test today." He allowed the students to cheer. Only a few of them did.

They were just so... _uninterested_. That could easily define these people today. _Uninterested._ Thirty years ago and there would have been a racketous celebration. Now...

"Now, you may be wondering _why_ that is. It is not due to a scheduling problem, nor have I misplaced my notes. Nor do I doubt that you'd all pass with flying colors, having studied _diligently _for this."

That got a chuckle out of them. They definitely appreciated sarcasm. Sarcasm was big these days. Bennett paused for a moment, and then laid upon them his actual plans, "No. I've decided instead to dedicate today to _another_ test."

Some groans and protests. _About what?! Have we gone over it? This sucks!_

He raised a calming hand, which did little to silence them. Raising his voice, he said, "But you shouldn't worry, I think, for I am not grading this. It's simply an evaluation... or a reward, depending on how well you do."

He reached onto his desk and recovered the sheets of paper he'd deposited there earlier. Counted them quickly as he said, "Now some of you may be wondering what it is I am evaluating you on."

"Yesterday, my _esteemed_ colleague Mrs. Vandenberg was shocked to learn that a large percentage of high school students across the nation were unable to define the ten amendments of the Bill of Rights. Now, naturally I told her that she shouldn't be surprised; it is rather difficult to remember them all, and even I myself have trouble sometimes." He tapped his balding, wispy-haired head with a smile, "Point taken, she said. But how can we expect our youth to fully appreciate and, indeed, understand the freedoms we have in this country if they don't even know what they are? Point taken, I myself returned. One thing led to another and we both resolved to put aside our lesson plans for today in order to discuss the Constitution of the United States of America, its amendments, and what all that means for _you, _the citizen."

"This sounds really boring," John Baum called out.

Bennett shrugged, "It's definitely not an easy subject, Mr. Baum, but one that I feel is necessary. A subject whose importance, perhaps, has been unfortunately forgotten in this country. Now, we'll start off with the aforementioned test; it will not be added to your overall grade if you don't do so well on it. If you do well on it, I'll consider it half a perfect quiz grade. Following the test I will divide you up into groups; I will give each group an amendment or two to analyze, and then you will present your findings to the rest of the class. Hopefully by the end of this you will have a heightened appreciation for the revolutionary ideas that went into the founding of this country."

He shook the test papers in his hands with a benevolent smile, "Here it comes."

--

_Thirty minutes later._

It was going about as well as Bennett had expected; most of the students were still on the test, banging against it as though it were nothing less than a midterm. He'd expected this, yes, but that didn't mean he was particularly thrilled. So far two groups had been formed out of the students who'd gotten through it already, but they couldn't exactly discuss anything yet, having to keep their voices low. The fact that this would extend into tomorrow was plain for all to see.

Bennett sighed. And then he raised an eyebrow as John Baum grabbed his paper, crumpled it into a large, crinkly ball, and proceeded to throw it away.

"Not entirely to your satisfaction, Mr. Baum?" William Bennett asked.

"Not entirely," John replied, voice dripping with strangely bitter sarcasm, "Can I have another?"

Bennett nodded, "Certainly. Do hurry this time."

He handed a clean slip of paper to the teenager and watched as he retreated back to his desk. Bennett looked over his desk and into the trash bin. The original --and offending-- sheet lay within at the bottom.

Well, at least he was giving it some thought. Or his original answers had been so terrible that he knew he was unlikely to get good marks on it. John's quality of writing and analytical skills when it came to history were sometimes impressive, and sometimes frustratingly indifferent. It was, Bennett had come to see, almost completely random whenever the boy actually seemed good at something, there was no particular topic that he enjoyed more than others (although most of his attention was given when Bennett went over wars.) Quite the enigma, really. What exactly had he rejected here?

Bennett did wonder what was on that sheet.

--

_Fourteen minutes later._

William Bennett cleared his throat, "Now, obviously we're running out of time, so we'll have to pick this up tomorrow. Whoever still has a test out, please take it home with you and finish it there. I'll know if you've plagiarized from Wikipedia."

Chuckles all around, including Bennett's. As the bell rang he said, "Be sure to think on this for tomorrow, I expect to hear good things out of you all!"

Conversation filled the classroom as the youngsters started to file out. And Bennett knew that not one conversation was devoted to the Constitution or the ideas within. He sighed. He was surprised, however, when John Baum slapped his revised test on the desk, "Sorry it's late," he said.

"You're earlier than most of them, so don't be," Bennett said mildly, taking the sheet. He gave it a quick glance and turned his eyes up to John. Cameron, his sister, was lingering in the classroom. She always left with him. Always, "Good day, John."

"Yeah, see you."

He left the classroom along with his sister, leaving Bennett as it's sole occupant. The hallway outside rumbled with passing footfalls and conversation. Bennett sighed. He wasn't a happy man right now. Of the people who'd turned their test in early, most of them (except Cameron) seemed to had given the least amount of effort possible in answering the questions posed to them. He'd never scrawled so many "C's" onto so many papers in all his years of teaching. And it was so simple, too, they could have fleshed out their answers marvelously if they just gave a _bit_ of thought to the matter.

As usual, Flora Vandenberg was more shrewd than he. Oh well. That was his problem, really. He took too much of a professorial stance to teaching high school students, and his expectations were consistently underwhelmed. Some of them just weren't smart enough, or driven enough.

Bah. What could he do? Not much, sir. Not much at all. He gathered up the strewn about papers on his desk and arranged them neatly into his folder. John's, being the last turned in, lay at the top. Like many of the others, he hadn't written all that much. William sighed and drew it out, bringing along his red pen. This wouldn't take long.

He read the first, incredibly canned and generic answer. Raised his pen to add a few comments before he lowered the pen mechanically, bent forward, and jerked the crumpled up ball of paper out of the garbage can. He unfolded it, placed his reading glasses on his nose, cracked his neck, and read;

_John Connor_

**Mr. Bennett 2007**

**AMERICAN HISTORY BILL OF RIGHTS ASSIGNMENT**

**The United States Constitution, ratified by the thirteen states in 1788, contained in its first ten amendments (known as the Bill of Rights) several revolutionary ideas on the concept of civil liberties and basic human rights. Below this paragraph are those ten amendments, exactly as how they were written two hundred years ago. Using your knowledge of American history and our early assignments, explain, in your own words, the basic concept of each amendment and provide justification for the ideas within. Explain and justify.**

**The Bill of Rights**

**First Amendment - ****Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.**

_Tom Jefferson is telling me I should respect people's right to tell me I'm wrong. So I've gotta ask, "which people?" The people sitting around in steel bunkers with me? The warlords? Why should I grant them that right, I ask Jefferson. Why should I let them undermine me when I already know I'm leading them to victory? Why tell some barbarian chief guy "hey, that's cool. You wanna criticize me without me killing your ass or throwing you in a jail? Cool." I don't think so. Criticism goes to revolution, and that's something I won't be able to afford. That's just incredibly dumb. You'd have so much in-fighting going on and NO UNIFICATION. People wasting each other just for words, it's so stupid. I mean, I don't like the IDEA of not following this one, and I won't exactly get rid of EVERYONE who disagrees with me... only the really bad ones, I guess. But to let them all criticize me, when our survival is at stake? No. I can't, I won't. _

**Second Amendment- ****A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the People to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.**

_Best right of all. Everyone should have a gun, Tom Jefferson says, and I agree. Guns are your one-way ticket to telling the metal to fuck off, whether it's a shotgun to keep them on the floor or a pistol to keep them distracted. Or an assault rifle to mess them up, I guess. I mean, if you don't have weapons, you have no way of surviving, it's just stupid. We're all gonna need these things to survive, to hunt, to kill, so it's just stupid that people think that guns shouldn't be easily accessed. It's common sense._

**Third Amendment- ****No Soldier shall, in time of peace be quartered in any house, without the consent of the Owner, nor in time of war, but in a manner to be prescribed by law.**

_What the hell does this mean, anyway? Not to let soldiers into your home? Soldiers are people too, just like you and me. We're all gonna live in the same place, so I don't see the point in this. Honestly. People aren't gonna have much of a choice soon. _

**Fourth Amendment- ****The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated, and no warrants shall issue, but upon probable cause, supported by Oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized.**

_This is useless. People are gonna do what the resistance says or they can get killed by the fucking metal. It's their choice._

**Fifth Amendment- ****No person shall be held to answer for any capital, or otherwise infamous crime, unless on a presentment or indictment of a Grand Jury, except in cases arising in the land or naval forces, or in the Militia, when in actual service in time of War or public danger; nor shall any person be subject for the same offence to be twice put in jeopardy of life or limb; nor shall be compelled in any criminal case to be a witness against himself, nor be deprived of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor shall private property be taken for public use, without just compensation.**

_So, basically Tom Jefferson's saying that it'd be unfair to be punished for something if you didn't go through the whole process of judgment. I guess that makes sense, but I don't know if I could follow it. I mean, you don't even know half the time who's a person and who's metal in disguise, so it's really a crapshoot. Sometimes it's better to just be quick and unfair rather than slow and fair, you know? If we spent resources convicting people by the book ALL THE TIME then we wouldn't be able to use those resources for better things. Bureaucrats can be used on the front lines instead of sitting around listening to a trial, right? At least they'd be useful that way. I mean, if it's a REALLY good case then I'd wanna hear it the way it's supposed to be, but for little stuff like thievery and shit? No. Just punish them to keep order, and to set an example. That's how it's gonna be done._

**Sixth Amendment- ****In all criminal prosecutions, the accused shall enjoy the right to a speedy and public trial, by an impartial jury of the State and district where in the crime shall have been committed, which district shall have been previously ascertained by law, and to be informed of the nature and cause of the accusation; to be confronted with the witnesses against him; to have compulsory process for obtaining witnesses in his favor, and to have the Assistance of Counsel for his defense.**

_This is stupid. Like I said, if there's a lot of doubt, sure, we'll trial them, but anything else and they're just punished, clean and simple. I think it's more important to set an example so people don't get it in their head to act like pricks to their neighbors than for good old fashioned justice to be served every time._

**Seventh Amendment- ****In suits at common law, where the value in controversy shall exceed twenty dollars, the right of trial by jury shall be preserved, and no fact tried by a jury, shall be otherwise re-examined in any court of the United States, than according to the rules of the common law.**

_STUPID._ _Using one judge would be much easier, having a jury would take too many people away from their duties, like cooking, nursing children, fighting on the surface, keeping security, all that shit. Stupid. _

**Eight Amendment- ****Excessive bail shall not be required, nor excessive fines imposed, nor cruel and unusual punishments inflicted.**

_Tom Jefferson means torture and shit, right? Punishing someone for something minor? Cutting a hand off so it doesn't steal again? We shouldn't do that, right? I guess it's really unfair to do that, but sometimes you gotta make an exception. Like I said, you gotta make an example. And sometimes taking drastic measures is necessary. Suppose some guy is hoarding a lot of food and he doesn't want to say where it is? Cut the bastards fingers off, we need that fucking food, no two ways about it. He deserves it anyway. I wouldn't do it a lot, though. I think. I hope_

**Ninth Amendment- ****The enumeration in the Constitution, of certain rights, shall not be construed to deny or disparage others retained by the people.**

_I don't even know what this means. Well, I guess it means some basic human rights not covered in the Bill of Rights should be protected, right? Eye of the beholder, I say. Some things will go, others will stay, that's all there is to it. _

_God, writing all this feels really weird. Hello nobody. How are you enjoying this? I'm having a fucking blast writting about what a fascist I'm gonna be when I grow up, because I have no other choice. Because it's my fuckinfg destiny and I'm stuck, heading toward it. I'm gona rule all these people and we're gonna blast those motherfucking machines into dust and I'm gonna be a terible person while I do it. A fucking terrible person who kills people I dislike, and I don't even grant them basic dignity. I grant them only survival, and not even that's a sure thing. I fucking hate this. Fuck it. _

**Tenth Amendment- ****The powers not delegated to the United States by the Constitution, nor prohibited by it to the states, are reserved to the states respectively, or to the people.**

_fuck the united states. there's only humanity._

William Bennett, who was sixty years old and had taught at this high school for over thirty years and had never seen anything even remotely like this in all his life, stared at the piece of paper for a long time. He re-read it once, twice, and then three times more before he grabbed his pen with a shaking hand.

He wrote _See me after class _at the top of the page.

Alongside that, an _A+. _Bennett laid back against his swivel chair and stared at the ceiling until the school bell rang again.

Edit: Alright, since I basically have mixed feelings about the second chapter now, I'll leave it to you, the reader, on which ending you'd prefer; it ending right here, or in the next chapter. Your choice.


	2. Justify

**Explain and Justify**

Conclusion: Justify

Author's Note: I decided a conclusion to this would be preferable to just leaving it on such a sour note as that. I hope you enjoy it.

At the same time, with the same things, and to the eyes of the same students as yesterday, William Bennett walked into his American history classroom. The only thing that was different, if they'd cared to even look at him (truly examine, not simply glance as they always did,) was that he felt incredibly exhausted, which was odd, as it was only about noon. Yesterday he'd been energized (though cynical) and ready to teach, as he always was. Today? It was like he had a bad cold.

Except he wasn't sneezing. Not even close. It was a... rather potent mixture of nervousness and tire that he felt, that lent him this bent posture, this shamble he used to reach his desk. He hadn't been able to secure a wink of sleep last night, and today was marked with abject silence on his part in most of the conversations in the teachers lounge, awkward, half-finished conversations with the school psychologist, and massive amounts of time in the library. Just as yesterday, Bennett's mind was devoted to the Constitution of the United States. To the lesson he'd given yesterday and had expected no one to exceed at, let alone grant unto him the unholy terrors for God knows how long.

He smacked the manilla folder onto the desk. It came open as soon as it struck the wood, revealing, at the top, a crinkled and abused test sheet of paper. At the top of the page, along with the comment _See me after class_ was a scrawled out _A+. _Beside that was a scrawled out _F, _and beside that, another _A,_ sans the plus. And then, the return of the _F. _And that, too, was scrawled out, and no grade followed in its wake.

The first response on the test was riddled with the beginnings of red pen marks, but none of those marks blossomed to form full sentences. The responses to the test themselves, revanchist and disturbing as they were, were written in neat, methodical handwriting that degenerated into chicken scratch as the student writing got ever deeper into the test. The entire thing was a mess, and, despite its messiness and its seeming lack of being relevant to the questions themselves, had been the source of much fixation on William Bennett's part ever since yesterday.

He stared at the class for a moment, his eyes immediately anchoring on John Baum, sitting near the row of windows now. He stared back at the history teacher in his usual uncaring way.

"Well, ladies and gentlemen," said Bennett, "I will now do attendance."

And he did attendance. And four people were absent.

"Same deal as last time, I think. You'll have to forgive me, I'm a tad exhausted today," he raised his hand, "Not to worry, though. It isn't contagious, the doctor assures me. I'll grade your tests as you bring them up to me, and, as you do so, I expect you to form groups thereafter. Get to it."

And so they got to it. As he'd expected, only a few of them actually did the test at home. Most of them brought out the Bill of Rights documents and started to write. A few of them moved their desks together and waited.

Bennett was staring at John Baum, as he sat there at his desk. The only thing Bennett could even consider thinking right now, the only sane thought that journeyed through his mind was _He changed his hair. Is it to throw people off? _In the picture, showing Cameron Baum (wielding a revolver, pointed at a bank clerk) and whom Bennett presumed to be their mother, this teenager had stood off in the background. And his hair was different, although he looked, as his sister did, exactly the same as he did... in 1999.

All it took was the name "John Connor" in Google to find the news story. And these people were dead, apparently. Killed in a massive explosion at a bank, eight years ago.

That took Bennett a while to eventually uncover. Initially he'd gone through the motions. He'd frowned at his verdict to John's tirade a little after writing the _A+ _and had changed it to an _F._ And for all the world, he'd changed it again as he went home. At that point he considered just trashing it and putting the matter out of his mind. But then he thought, _Why do that? The shrink will want to see this._ So he'd arranged an appointment. After all, there was disturbing stuff written on this test. Surely it speaks of latent mental instability in this boy. That could be a threat. We don't want another Columbine.

That was what started him down the slope. He'd put it out for a while, but it had nagged at him. _What_ was in that paper again that I'm so worried over? Let's see it again. And he poured over it for hours, sitting at his desk, fumbling with his red pen. It all... it was like reading a treatise from a younger Hitler, it raged against some unspecified threat in the near future, it assailed the common freedoms of man, yet for no adequately explained reason. It spoke of some grand catastrophe that would force all people to abdicate to a single man: the Mr. Baum right there, sitting near the windows. They would give themselves and their dignity up to him, their common freedoms and desires, so that they could survive. The path to survival lay in him, the reading implied.

Was it all a metaphor, Bennett wondered. A self-constructed delusion which would grant him liberty to establish for himself a messiah complex? Was it propaganda for neo-fascism on an extreme level? It was so easy to write off, if you thought about it, as just the ravings of a self-important teenager. You got that sometimes. It was fixed with rehabilitation, usually it involved a lot of money from the parents and a lot of tears from the subject as they ranted against "the Jews" or even "Reds," "whities," and, most recently, "the wetbacks." In John's case, it was "the metal," and, to put a more harsh tone on that, "the motherfucking machines."

It was important to nip this sort of thing in the bud. Educate them. Let them know you're there, and that you accept that. Most importantly, prescribe some goddamned pills. That way you don't get things like a Virginia Tech massacre somewhere down the line. You get this sometimes.

And you also get lamentations. The writing was regretful near the end, as though he didn't actually want any of this, as though it was all to be forced on him. That was an interesting spin on the matter, but not so much that it put the situation in an entirely different light. He could be trying to eschew the responsibility of having these thoughts by saying he didn't want any of it to begin with. All natural for the circumstances. All clinical. Bennett had never had to deal with this sort of thing in his life; most teachers never did, thankfully enough, but he knew a textbook case when he saw it.

It should have been easy, then, to write this off in his mind as something disturbing, YES, but fixable. Make good on that appointment with the school counselor. Call the parents, get them involved. Easy, simple, Bennett could wash his hands of the whole thing...

... if he had not been so intrigued with the writing itself. It was so... sure of itself. It outlined, in sparing detail, the way life was going to be led, and that life would be led by John. Everyone's life would be led by John, they were bent to his will. Judges? Fair trial? No. They were trivialities in comparison to the greater threat. He hated to eschew them, but that was how they were going to have to survive this unspecified cataclysm. It carried a very erie Cassandra-esque air to it, of obvious events to unfold, and the life that would be followed through.

It didn't make justifications. It carried no details. It was a very personal rant, addressed to no one but himself, to be seen by no one. That was what intrigued Bennett. He was no psychologist, nor a philosopher. He was a historian, and in his experience, people made grandiose claims and they wanted people to KNOW about it. They wanted affirmation. Maybe John was posting these rants on the internet for just that sense of empowerment that demagogue's thirsted on, but Bennett somehow doubted that; the words were too furtive, too secretive.

The name had been different. And it struck a distinct chord in Bennett, like there was something there that he _knew_ but couldn't put his finger on. That was what led him to the library early today. To the computers, and internet beyond. That was what led him to find a picture of this John Baum, or John Connor, in the bank shot. Eight years ago. Fully, almost unremarkably unchanged as he appeared today and back then.

That was when Bennett started to look over his shoulder. When he started to think irrational, silly (but so tantalizing) thoughts to himself. That was when he diverted from the educational realm and went purely into the speculative. He did a little more research. The woman in the shot, one Sarah Connor, had escaped from the Pescadero State Hospital for the Criminally Insane in 1995. She had been convicted for attempted mass homicide and domestic terrorism in her attempts to destroy a factory owned by Cyberdyne Systems Incorporated.

Why would she do that? The details were sketchy. She was massively machine-phobic, the article said. Not much else. Things unfolded gradually after that, and they started to make more sense. Well, there's your excuse for the boy's writings. It's his mother. But what about... the girl? This girl who was staring wide-eyed at the two other girls in her group, who answered every question impeccably. This was a girl who'd pointed a gun at someone! The plot thickens, it ALL gets disturbing, then!

Eventually he'd begun to believe that he couldn't entrust this to anyone else. Not with the ideas running through his head now. He'd cancelled his appointment with the counselor. Clammed up. And started thinking.

He would have to talk to him. With hope this was all a glorious prank, a red-herring. Pranks were getting more complex these days, so intricate. That was what Bennett hoped. But he could hope all he wanted, he could speculate all he desired, he could write off these scrawled words as delusions of grandeur all he wanted, and it would all amount to the same thing: nothing.

He would get something, at least, if he talked to him.

But first...

Bennett cleared his throat, "I have several tests I'm ready to return. Ah, come up when you hear your name." He stared down at the stack of pages.

"John Baum," he said.

John edged himself away from his desk and sauntered over to the Bennett's little kingdom in the classroom. Bennett, keeping his face studiously neutral and impassive, pushed the page labeled _John Connor_ over to the edge of the desk. He'd trashed the canned, generic version of the test long ago.

John grabbed the paper and gave it a brief once-over.

The effect was instant, almost fully tangible. His hand started to shake convulsively, his eyes took upon them a far away, glazed-over texture. Mouth hung open slightly. He froze fully where he stood and stayed there for over a minute, as though he'd suddenly lost himself in a world far removed from this classroom, from this school even.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Baum?" Bennett said, leaning over slightly. He was lying to himself if he didn't think he was reveling in this. Watching the enigma himself squirm, as he himself just sat there and smiled knowingly at him. It was the only comfort Bennett thought he'd have today.

John head creaked over to his teacher. He wore a hateful, horrifyingly piercing glare on his face. It was the look of a caged animal who has no choice but to accept it's imprisonment and the consequences that follow from that.

"N-no," he stammered.

"Not entirely satisfied with your grade?"

John didn't even answer him. He wandered back over to his desk and collapsed into his seat. He drew both of his hands up to his head and held them there, unmindful of the students staring at him.

Bennett sighed and called up the next name.

--

_Forty minutes later. _

"Ladies and gentlemen, I hope you can appreciate the fact that I'm quite disappointed in your efforts today. I expected you to have many more substantiated things to say about our Constitution, but instead I simply get the barebones facts and none of the passion would one expect. We will have to discuss this more in-depth tomorrow."

The school bell rang, and Bennett folded his arms, "Have a good day, I will see you tomorrow."

The same scene from yesterday played over, almost step for step. Even the conversations seemed unchanged. Bennett walked over to the door to see them off, shaking the occasional hand as they went, smiling and nodding. He stood there and waited.

And as he'd expected, John Baum had immersed himself between a few people and was attempting to get out among them. Bennett supposed he couldn't blame him for trying. He grabbed the teenagers jacket and pulled slightly. The boy let out a haggard breath and walked back into the classroom.

Cameron Baum remained where she was, in her brother's escort. Bennett smiled benevolently at her and waved toward the door.

She smiled, shaking her head, "I wanted to talk to him."

"You'll have to do that outside, Cameron."

Cameron looked toward John. He shook his head toward the door, mimicking Bennett's gesture. They both held on to each other's gaze for a moment, as though exchanging something secret. It could be, Bennett thought cynically.

As she was leaving, Bennett said to Cameron, "You may do well to tell your next teacher than John will be late. I'm afraid this may take a while," He looked to John, "I will write you a note."

Cameron stopped dead in her tracks and turned, "Let's go, John."

"Cam, it's cool," John said. Bennett raised an eyebrow.

"John-"

"Just go. I'll be fine."

Cameron glared at Bennett and looked him over once, and, for some ineffable reason he felt as though he were being analyzed comprehensively in that spare moment. She tilted her head. And then she turned on her heels and started off down the hall.

Bennett suppressed a shudder as he turned back toward the other Baum sibling, feeling for all the world as though he were getting in way over his head now, "Well, you might as well take a seat."

"Mr. Bennett-" John began, stepping forward and raising his hands.

"Ah, take a seat please. I'm feeling rather tired myself."

John stood there for a moment, shaking with impotent fury. He shut his eyes tightly and slipped into the front-most seat of the classroom, closest to Bennett's desk. Bennett took a seat right next to him. He cleared his throat and leaned forward, "Well, as can _imagine_ I've been hemming and hawing over your assignment for many hours now. For now we're not going to bother with what _I_ think of it, Mr. Baum, so why don't you take over in that regard? Tell me about your assignment."

John was staring at one of the motivational posters clipped onto the wall. It was Abraham Lincoln saying, _It is better to keep one's mouth shut and be thought a fool than to open it and remove all doubt._ Bennett could see the kid's lips moving as he distracted himself by reading it, could almost see for himself the gears turning rapidly in the boys head as he moved to figure out what he should say. Hopeless panic was naked on his face.

"Um..." he started. Bennett waited. "It's really nothing. Just something stupid I wrote, honestly. I should have been doing the assignment."

"You don't have to tell me it wasn't the assignment I'd asked you to do, John. I know it wasn't. I asked you to tell me what it is. I reject your verdict that it is, as you say, stupid. I reject that. I also reject that it's nothing."

John turned his head down, looking like he desperately wanted to escape from here. Or pretend Bennett didn't exist. Maybe that was what he was doing. Bennett, for all the world, found himself smiling lightly. The last time he'd seen anything even remotely like this in a student was more than a decade ago. Everything else beyond that was pure apathy. At least here was a bit of emotion.

"I don't know," John murmured. He sounded incredibly resigned. And he was omitting, very clearly, a ton of what he _did_ know.

"You do," Bennett said. "And I want you to explain it to me. It can't be that hard."

"What are you, a shrink?" John said nastily, turning his head up and glaring at his teacher.

Bennett said nothing. He merely waited. John sighed, "I wrote about all that's wrong with the Constitution and why the ideas in it, y'know, are gonna hurt us rather than help us."

"Are going to," Bennett repeated. "You're making a prediction, then."

John stared, "Uh, n-no. I mean, I guess. I don't know. Seriously, is this really all that important?"

"You can talk about it with me and get this straightened out or we can go to the psychologist."

John was silent. He was twitching very occasionally, spasms convulsing through his hands, arms, legs that were almost invisible. He felt trapped alright.

Bennett stared for a moment, silent himself until he cleared his throat again, "Your... ah, obvious problems with the basic liberties included in the Bill of Rights aside, what you wrote down on that page was perhaps the most disturbing thing I've ever seen laid to paper by hand. By all rights I should take this to the counseling department and let them take care of it. You'd have many an impromptu session with a psychologist coming your way this year, I think. This is the stuff that the investigators find out about after a school shooting, so you could imagine that-"

"That's _bullshit,"_ John exclaimed, "I'm not a fucking whack-job-"

Bennett silenced him with a curt jab of his hand, the most authoritarian gesture he'd used in years on a student, "Be quiet. What I'm trying to say here is that I want to avoid that."

John blinked. "Why?" he asked instantly. He was definitely a shrewd kid, knowing what made people tick. By all rights this was what he'd been hoping for privately, but to have it come out was confusing for him.

"I..." Bennett paused. "I don't know. It mostly pertains to what I've discovered outside this paper, although the paper itself is oddly..." He sighed, "Sure of what it states."

John started to babble now, "B-but I didn't mean any of it, honestly. It was a joke, Mr. Bennett, I-I was just goofing off, it's a joke. I don't mean any of it. R-really." Oh, yes. He had his suspicions now. His comfort zone, his secrets were being threatened. He was throwing up defenses, trying to find excuses and pathways out of this.

Bennett ignored his pleas, "Before I tell you more, I'd like you to tell me what it is you're predicting here. Your writing alludes to a catastrophic event that necessitates the removal of some basic human rights and dignities. You will apparently be leading humanity after this event occurs. I'd like you to explain what that is and how you come to lead this fine world after it happens."

"_It was a joke! _I'm being serious, honestly, it was a joke, Mr. Bennett."

"A joke for whom?"

"I-I-I-"

"Cut the crap, son, and explain yourself. I know that you're smarter than this so why don't you demonstrate that intelligence?"

John wiped a hand over his forehead, "What was the question?" His voice sounded defeated, raspier. On the edge of hysteria. Secrets, as always, were power. You cannot do greater pain to a man than to remove the secrets he has held so dear.

Bennett repeated the question, abandoning all pretenses of overwhelming John wit his educated tone and dialect. "Tell me about this disaster."

John stared at him. "You _won't believe me._"

"Just do it, boy."

John took a shuddering breath and got up from his seat. Bennett's eyes widened. Was he going to...?

But no, he just started pacing around, hands massaging the back of his head, eyes shut tight. He continued to pace around like this until he bumped into another desk by accident. His hand lashed out to grab the desk and he stared at it, eyes huge.

_Oh, Jesus, _Bennett thought.

John turned back to him, hunched over as he was, and said, "Alright... I'm... only gonna say this once. Ok?"

"Ok," Bennett said easily.

"Ok... in 2011..." He let out a loud breath, "L-look, can we just forget it?!"

"NO!" Bennett yelled. He started to caress his aching throat and waved at the teenager, "No, we can't, John Connor."

"My last name is _fucking_ Baum you-"

Bennett spoke rapidly, "Earlier today I saw the bank photograph from 1999, you were right there in it, you look_ exactly_ as you did back then, and that, my friend, is impossible, you'd had been eight or nine when that happened. I saw your sister, she too looks exactly the same, aged not a day to my eyes. _So, _bearing that in mind, and I do not doubt the authenticity of the news report I read because I remember having heard about the bank explosion during that year... why don't you explain what this event is? Now that things have been put into perspective for you, John Connor."

"Why do you care?!"

Bennett reached other and smacked him in the face with all the viciousness he could pack into his hand. John looked shocked.

Good God, what was possessing him to act like this?! Knowledge, of course. Knowledge and the dreadful feeling that, whatever John was about to tell him, it would all be true. He wanted so desperately to know what it was, so that... he could _know,_ and possibly be prepared for it, whatever it would be. It was a nagging, feverish feeling that compelled him to act this way.

"Tell me!"

John hugged himself with his hands and closed his eyes and started to talk in rapid-fire tones, "In 2011 an artificial intelligence known as SKYNET will be commissioned by the military to monitor and protect the United States air space from nuclear attacks. It will also be given full access to America's nukes so that it can, I dunno, coordinate an attack against the Russians or some shit, whoever attacks us. _Two_ days later it's gonna decide that _all_ humans are the enemy, not just the ones on the other side. I dunno why it's gonna do this, maybe it gets too smart and we'll try to pull the plug and it just decides to defend itself or something, I don't give a shit. Either way it'll launches all the nukes and all the other countries will fire back. Almost every major city in the world will be wiped out and three billion people will die within a month."

He took a deep breath, "Um... but y'know, a lot of us are gonna survive all that, so SKYNET decides it's gonna have to kill all of the rest of us. It's gonna build tons of machines with computer chips that are linked to SKYNET'S brain, so they can all be coordinated and shit, and it's gonna use those machines to hunt us down and kill us all. And that's... that's it."

"You can't expect me to believe that," Bennett said softly. Dear god. That would certainly just about do it for the Constitution, though, wouldn't it? But it sounded so... ludicrous, Bennett couldn't examine what the boy had said in anything but clinical overtones. It was to...

John's eyes flashed open and he glared at him with unmitigated hatred, "I fucking knew you wouldn't, I just... Fuck you, why'd you make me do this?"

Bennett sighed, "Enough about me. Where do you fit in?"

"No, I'm done."

"The hell you are. Sit down. Tell me."

John gasped out another horrified breath and he resumed his rapid speech, "This is gonna be really confusing, but bear with me, ok? Around... I dunno, the 2020's, I'm going to form a resistance movement against the machines. I do my best to get everyone to unify under me, and... I-I guess that's why I was so harsh on Tom Jefferson, or something, heh-"

"-It wasn't penned entirely by Jefferson, but go on."

"-a-anyway, it's really tough, I think, for the first few years, a lot of people are gonna die and all, I guess. A lot. But we start winning, I think. Or I hope. Everyone soon gets in on it for the whole struggle, everyone fights together. And while we're doing that, SKYNET is trying to bail itself out by researching weird technology, like, uh, time-travel."

"Time travel." Bennett said.

"Y-yeah, but other things, it makes really advanced units of its machine soldiers, and they're called Terminators. SKYNET uses them either to fight us directly or uses them to infiltrate our bases."

"Wouldn't that be hard for a machine?" Bennett asked.

"Yeah, but SKYNET covers the machines with synthetic skin, that makes them look like you or me. And they're programmed to blend in, they've got basic mannerisms and speech down pat, although sometimes they really stand out and act like total dweebs, but whatever. The main thing is that SKYNET creates a time machine and it uses one of it's Terminators and sends it back in time. To, uh, kill my mother before I'm born. Thankfully that didn't work, because I'm gonna send back my own soldier in that same time machine. We capture it from SKYNET, you know. Anyway, that guy is Kyle Reese, he's a soldier, and I send him back. He manages to kill the Terminator that was sent to kill my mom, but, uh... in the process he dies too. And before that he and she, uh had sex I guess and I was conceived."

Bennett blinked.

"My mom has spent all these years training me for this. Preparing me to, y'know, be this leader and all. Cause Kyle told her _everything, _so she knew right off the bat. T-that's how I, uh, know all this. To begin with."

"You look quite the leader type, indeed."

"Don't fucking mock me, dude. This is all serious, I knew you wouldn't believe me and you probably think I'm a nut ball but... it's the truth, alright? I can't fucking waste my time on worrying about human rights and shit, I'm worrying about how we're gonna survive as a fucking species first. That's my... job in life."

Bennett nodded. "Well, that certainly does explain a lot. It's unfortunate that it all sounds completely insane, if you don't mind my saying."

John smirked, "Yeah... I-I know."

"I have a few questions, John."

"Are you gonna tell anyone about this, first?"

Bennett sighed. "I don't know. I think you're harmless enough to this school, at least, as long as you don't go around calling, say, your sister one of these machine types in disguise."

John stared at him, eyes wide and surprised. Bennett groaned. "Er. At any rate, there are some obvious holes in this."

"I know."

"Where's your proof?"

"I can call my sister back here."

"No, John. She is not a machine."

"She is, though. She's not even my sister, more like my... bodyguard, I guess. I sent her back here in 2027 to protect me."

Bennett raised his hands in defeat, "Fine, call her."

"So you believe me?"

"I never said that." He was an academic person, for godssake. How could he believe... but why was he even entertaining this? Why wasn't he walking out as slowly as he could?!

John called his sister. Told her to come meet him.

"I hope she gives a proper excuse for leaving class," Bennett mused.

"Fuck that," John said. He seemed decidedly cheerful now, albeit tinged with bitterness at what he'd just related to William Bennett.

"In the meantime, I have another question."

"Shoot, I guess..."

"How do you look exactly the same now as you did in 1999?"

"Time travel," John said. "SKYNET sent another Terminator after me and we decided, y'know, what better way to hide than in the future? There were other reasons, too, but the most pressing one at the time was getting away from that thing."

"Where was this time machine?" Bennett asked.

"The bank. The energy field that's produced by the machine pretty much blows everything around it to pieces. We were there one minute, and then we were lying on a fucking highway at night with no clothes on the next, eight years later."

"No clothes," Bennett repeated.

"Yeah, the time machine doesn't send back anything that's not living."

_That_ was a particular detail that a deluded, self-indulgent mind could obviously construct, if only for their own sick pleasure. But John said it so casually that Bennett had difficulty believing that.

"I have another question."

"You sound really skeptical."

"I am, and for obvious reasons."

"This is all the truth, dude. You asked, I told you everything. I _never_ tell anyone everything. You're fucking lucky."

"If you are dreading this destiny of your so much, John, and you know about it several years in advance, how come you don't do anything to stop this before it happens?"

John grinned. "That's _exactly_ what we're doing, actually, and it's half the reason we came here to 2007. Somewhere in L.A. SKYNET starts being worked on, and we're gonna try to destroy it before it comes into existence. Sort of a reverse of what SKYNET's been trying to do to me for all these years."

"How on Earth can you do that?"

"With my mom, who's like, harder than nuclear nails, Cameron, my uncle --he's from the future too--, and a lot of guns and explosives."

... Oh god. Bennett rubbed his neck, "Perhaps you shouldn't have told me that last part, John."

As John spoke, he developed a light sheen of sweat all over his face, his arms, his hands became clammy. His voice developed an audible rasp, and his leaning posture became more and more pronounced, as if what he was saying, the responsibility in his words were weighing down every constantly upon him, battering, weakening him physically even as he spoke. It was a terrifying thing to behold.

"I've told you this much. We've got guns. We're not gonna use it on innocent people, though, cause we're not crazy. We're fighting to fucking save all of you people, we're not out for blood. I was so bitter about writing that fucking test because I didn't _want_ to be that sort of person. I want freedom of speech, and a fair trial would be nice. That's part of what we're trying to save, and it isn't fucking easy. We can fail. So that's why I've got to be prepared to go against the Constitution, Mr. Bennett. Cause if we don't stop this thing, this catastrophe before it happens then the only thing humanity's got left is me.

But I'm hoping that doesn't happen. And we're trying, Mr. Bennett. We're trying real hard to make sure that doesn't happen. Cause privately, I don't want to be a leader. I don't think I can do it. I'm really scared sometimes. But if it's all we've got in the end, then I gotta swallow that fear and go full speed ahead. That's all there is to it."

William Bennett stared at the boy for a while in silence, slowly, methodically considering what he'd said to him. Unlike the rest of his explanation, this particular speech had had no details. No justifications. Just simple facts. You could feel the bitter knowledge of his destiny, and the acceptance of that, radiating from John Connor.

"You poor child," Bennett said softly.

John was looking past him. Bennett turned his head round and saw Cameron standing at the door. Her eyes flashed blue twice, shining with an utterly, uncompromisingly artificial brilliance. She said, "Miss Vahn wants you in class in two minutes or you're being counted absent, John."

"Thanks," John said.

She left.

William Bennett cleared his throat, leaned forward, and said, "In the spirit of the Constitution, Mr. Connor, what can I do to help in making sure you persist in respecting it?"

John Connor smiled.

--

_Four years later._

William Bennett went on with his job of teaching. He nearly lost his job when the recession hit, but everything seemed to work out well enough. He got a particularly big pay compensation in 2009, which allowed him to quit with grace and dedicate his life to finding information. He stopped studying history and started to look towards the future. During the intervening summers he used his benevolence and charm to make his way back into the corporate world from which he'd left originally in the 1970s to pursue teaching. He worked as an advisor to a CEO of a certain computer research corporation. She was a deeply spiritual, humanistic person who saw her work as being the gateway to a better world. Playing off that personality they developed a good rapport and she would come to him for advice. He would woo her with historical anecdotes that put her situations into a more pleasant, optimistic light. Occasionally he would warn her, and she would thank him for his help. In 2009 he became her official advisor, receiving a paycheck like anyone else in the company.

And between those days of reassurances and wooing, he would make deliveries. He would phone in to a certain household and tell a certain person what he knew. He would mail correspondences he'd recovered to that household and would receive a forged copy from a certain John Connor, so that no one at the company would tell the difference or notice that anything had gone missing.

During some days at the office, when he paraded around the cubicles offering nuggets of historical wisdom (and encouraging people to check his sections in the newsletter; they were most informative, and topical), he would occasionally see a gruff looking man walk around. And people would randomly die in the office sometimes. Homicides. Never really solved. Gunfire became more sporadic all of a sudden, and eventually the company moved, only to suffer through more deaths a few months later. Security was stepped up and odd looking robots would begin to patrol the lobby and some of the halls. And William Bennett would never see the gruff man again after all that.

No one told Bennett anything. He was never made privy to any details. The voice on the other line of the phone would thank him for his help and then they would hang up. Bennett only saw John Connor once after he'd graduated from high school. His hair was shorter, more authoritative. He was angrier, less compassionate than that frightened, remorseful boy Bennett had encountered in that classroom. But he was more intelligent and driven, too.

When they met at random in a cafe in downtown Los Angeles, they chatted about absolutely nothing of import. John complained about the president and how he wasn't being hard enough on Congress. He said his college studies were going alright, but it wasn't that important. He had a very hounded, bitter look to him, but he took it absolutely in stride and failed to notice anything about himself when Bennett called him on it. Bennett talked about the media's undue attention to celebrities such as Miley Cyrus and how it was diluting the information exchange from press to civilians. There was no mention of machines, or SKYNET, or domestic terrorism.

And then they parted ways. Bennett lost his job in early 2011, and he left his former position with the feeling that he'd done alright. That he had made a difference. He slowly stopped paying attention to the media unless they talked about a recent homicide of a computer programmer, of the destruction of hardware, of seemingly random explosions and spates of gunfire. Of reports of indomitable men who, astoundingly enough, had suffered multiple gunshot wounds, yet had not even appeared bothered by said wounds, much less died because of them.

Bennett spent most of his time outside, getting exercise in. He visited the park occasionally and talked to people. Sometimes he would sit on a bench after having walked all day and stare at the natural splendor around him. And he would weep in apprehension of it's loss.

He bought a gun license and purchased an M-16 assault rifle. He read books on how to properly mix nitroglycerin and other compounds to create explosive devices. And when he wasn't training his frail arms to fire, or to mix, he would read old textbooks for enjoyment. They were all he had left in his purchased condo in the wilderness near Los Angeles.

He thought often of fate and destiny, of pre-destination. Of responsibility and the feeling of being part of something greater than oneself. He also thought about how revitalized he felt living this way, and yet it was still more depressing and heart-wenching than all his years of teaching and influencing young minds, whether eager or apathetic. His thoughts of the glorious strife against the oncoming machine behemoth were tempered with the hopes that every day, for as long as he lived, as he exited his cabin, he would hear the birds sing, and he would be able to travel down into L.A. proper and enjoy himself alongside his fellow man. And he would breathe fresh air and not hear a word of artificial intelligence. Just... enjoy.

He hoped. But he prepared for the worst, like any sensible man who could see a storm when it was coming. It was a very zen way of existing, Bennett came to understand. Point to counter-point. He hoped his fears would never be realized, that the balance would shift fully in favor of hope than for simple preparation. If preparation came to be realized, he would owe his survival to a chance meeting with a child, four years ago. If hope prevailed, then none of that would matter.

And oh, how he'd doubted. Even if he would die eventually, he was happy to have had all this knowledge and more, to have been part of the struggle that would hopefully see successful fruition as a result of the efforts of those people, those freedom fighters, and that man, John Connor. Bennett's role was small, but who knew when operating in this environment? A simple thing could influence the course of history. How much had he contributed? Enough, Bennett fancied. Enough. And to think, all of this started with a silly assignment! It humbled one's mind.

On April 21st, 2011, William Bennett walked out of his home, chuckling as he had this thought.


End file.
